Dammit Juliet!
by soggypotatoes
Summary: Romeo and Juliet Hetalia Style. May or may not be continued. America x Canada and, if continued, possible frUK and poland x russia.


**Hello everybody! I know, I know, here I am uploading some other story instead of updating Mind the Gap, but I'm working on it this is my school assignment. Yeah. We had to rewrite Romeo and Juliet and... well, hetalia came to mind. I might continue it later. AFTER Mind the Gap, don't worry. It's kinda... well, let's just say there was a word limit so it's a bit weird, I might try to fix it a bit later.**

**Dammit Juliet**

"This party is so damn _boring._" Alfred moaned, earning a small but painful whack over the head by his father, Arthur. "Behave, Alfred. This is not one of those awfully loud drinking parties you so enjoy wasting your life away on, it is about time you grow up." Alfred rolled his eyes at his father's back and pulled fruitlessly at his tie. He hated these parties he was always forced to go to. Bloody frogs…

Life sucked. He was a member of the great Kirkland family; English "gentlemen", prudes, horrible at cooking and 100% ass holes. Unfortunately for him, even though he was technically American (he grew up in America with Arthur who, of course, hated every second of improper grammar and murdered English) he was always put into the category of the Kirklands; in other words, British. All he could do was thank God that he didn't inherit his father's massive eyebrows. It was like an enchanted forest on his forehead.

Of course, being a Kirkland was way better than being in the Bennefoy family. Those French good-for-nothing up themselves frogs. They flirted with anything that moved and were very openly sexual. For them, life was all sex, wine and beauty.

He leaned back against the wall, hand clasped over his heart, eyes closed. He really needed a lover… he slowly opened his eyes and began to skim the tables for food. Decent food, not the horrible English crap Arthur always fed him. Oh, what he would do for a hamburger right now…

And that's when he first saw his Juliet. Standing awkwardly next to a stack of pancakes, looking around hesitantly to see if anyone was watching as he squeezed litres of maple syrup all over them. He jumped as he realised that he was missing the plate with the bottle and was pouring syrup all over his shoes, making Alfred laugh lightly. The violet-eyed teen looked around quickly to see if anyone had seen, catching eyes with Alfred as he did so before turning dark red and attempting to hide the monstrous amounts of maple syrup drowning his pancakes behind him.

Alfred made his way towards him, all the while never breaking eye contact. They were the most beautiful he'd ever seen; a deep violet seeming to capture him, holding him and absorbing him until all he could see was purple. "Seems you have a… spillage…" he said softly, taking a handkerchief out of his shirt pocket and bending down to clean his shoes for him.

Matthew watched the stranger with glazed eyes. He had never seen anything like it; he was perfect down to the last detail. His eyes were as blue as the summer sky, blonde hair playfully mussed while one stubborn cowlick stood up to attention. He was also rather tall and seemed extremely uncomfortable with his surroundings.

After the teen's shoes were clean, Alfred slowly stood up again, reattaching their gaze as he did so. "Alfred F. Jones." He said, holding out his hand. "Matthew Williams." They shook slowly and somehow rather erotically before Alfred got impatient and pulled Matthew forwards, kissing him full on the lips. At that moment the world appeared to fade around them. All that existed was Alfred, Matthew and the unbreakable bond they had created in a matter of seconds.

It ended too soon. The two of them was all too suddenly ripped apart. "What the bloody hell do you think you're doing?" Arthur hissed into his ear, his over-the-top English accent increasing as his rather huge eyebrows furrowed in his rage. But Alfred was too busy to answer; right now he had to deal with Ivan Braginski.

Ivan was his sworn enemy. Freakishly tall, violet eyes, ashy blonde hair and a smile that was cold enough to stop the world. That was a trademark of his; he was never seen without that terrifying I'm-going-to-kill-you-now smile and that god damn scarf he wore. He claimed it was part of him. Creepy communist.

"Perhaps you should keep your greasy mitts off Matevy in future, Alfred." He shuddered at the Russian's child-like voice and glared, biting back a lot of very colourful language. "Actually, if I recall his name is _Matthew_, not your gross communist variation." Ivan's smile broadened and everyone at that moment except for Alfred shivered as the temperature dropped several degrees. "In case you have not noticed, I am not communist. Unless our next leader is English speaking, I am as capitalist as you are."

"We Americans make amazing leaders." Was all Alfred could say. He was never very good at comebacks. Ivan opened his mouth to reply but was interrupted by his best friend Feliks. "Like, break it up! It's, like, a party! Come on, let's, like, totally dance!" And with that he grabbed Ivan and whipped him away on their excuse for a 'dance'. More of a furious glaring contest really. The two hated each other almost as much as Alfred.

"Is true." The Lord Bennefoy, Francis said loudly. "This is a party. We should be enjoying." All the same, he pulled Matthew away, who continued to glance hopefully back at Alfred. As the crowd broke up, Arthur pulled him aside. "Alfred... do you know who that is?" Alfred shrugged and Arthur, taking the gesture as a no, continued "Matthew Williams, son of Francis, our sworn enemy."

Alfred's eyes widened. Did he just… snog the enemy? He had a hunch that Matthew was one of the Bennefoys due to his obviously French designer suit and accent, but he had no idea… "Oh God…" he said slowly, being rewarded by a whack over the head by his father. "Don't use the Lord's name in vain, idiot. Now find yourself a nice _girl_ and we will never speak of this again." Alfred nodded as Arthur walked away. Obviously he was going to ignore the fact that Matthew was a guy and pray that he wasn't… well, different.

"Oi! Romeo!" He turned at the sound of Feliks' voice. "You, like, totally snagged a pretty one. I'm, like, proud of you!" He immediately ducked before Feliks could ruffle up his already messy hair. "Pity he was, like, a Bennefoy. Best to, like, totally forget about that one, like, plenty of fish in the sea. Those French Fries are totally no good, plus, if he's, like, related to that Braginski… you're, like, totally too hot for one of them. Though you could, like, totally use some nicer clothes." Alfred shook his head madly. Feliks may be his best friend, but if he allowed him to take even a little control of his wardrobe he dreaded to think what frilly pink monstrosities he might be forced to wear.

Instead he thanked Feliks for the advice and began to search for his… Juliet. He liked the sound of that. Shakespeare never was his thing, there were so many awesome American writers out there he just couldn't sit still long enough to read it properly, but of course he knew who they were. Did they end up happily ever after? Mmm, he couldn't remember. Probably though. The good guys always won after all!

And then he saw him. For the second time that night, Matthew holding a fancy gold rimmed plate with one miniscule pancake and a delicate smear of maple syrup, standing beside a tall albino man wearing a mean looking smirk. He moved closer. They were talking to Francis. "Mon petite cheri, you two should be married! You are the most perfect couple, oui?" Matthew giggled nervously and the albino wrapped an arm around his shoulders, laughing loudly. "Ja, Mattie is almost as awesome as the awesome me, which is pretty awesome." Alfred shuddered at his obnoxious German accent, and had to struggle not to gag when the two kissed.

Francis and the German douche continued talking, and Alfred continued watching Matthew, who had taken a few steps back and wiped his mouth vigorously before glancing up to catch eyes with Alfred, who smiled and pretended to gag, gesturing towards the oblivious albino. Matthew laughed and, after glancing around to see if anyone was watching, jerked his head in the direction of the pancakes and glanced disapprovingly at the rather minuscule serving in his hand.

Matthew smiled and nodded shyly, blushing at the hansom blonde who was now making his way towards the pancakes. Glancing quickly back at his father and fiancé, he nervously followed. Alfred turned to meet him, cracking a million watt smile as he did. "Gil's not that bad." He defended, unable to keep from smiling widely at the close contact with the American.

"What, you mean that German hunk over there?" Alfred snorted, earning himself a light punch in the arm from Matthew. "At least he can cook!" The American stared at Matthew in wonder. "How did you know I couldn't cook? Are you magic?" Matthew giggled. "Yeah, sorry to break it to you but no one – I repeat, _no _one in the Kirkland family can cook."

"Fair enough." And with that, Alfred grabbed Matthew's plate and shovelled almost all the pancakes onto it, drowning it in maple syrup, grabbing a generous fork full and saying, "Open wide Juliet!" Matthew whacked the fork out of his hand and kissed him, tongue and all. After a moment they broke apart to catch their breath and Alfred whispered, "_Dammit Juliet_."


End file.
